


Losing Sleep

by lil_1337



Category: Donald Strachey Mysteries (Movie Canon)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-08
Updated: 2008-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-06 23:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337/pseuds/lil_1337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set Pre-Ice Blues and based on Timothy's comment that some times he can't sleep at night worrying if someone is bashing Donald's skull in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losing Sleep

Timothy rolled over and burrowed deeper under the mound of covers. He might like winter in New York, but it wasn't because he enjoyed being cold. In fact, the opposite was true. Everything that appealed to him involved ways to keep warm, ranging from stylist scarves to nights in front of the fireplace curled up with Donald and a glass of mulled wine. The latter was his favorite of course. There were very few things that compared to quiet time with his husband. It didn't matter if they sat and listened to jazz or spent hours making love as long as they were together.

Sighing, he shifted, moving closer to the middle of the bed. Nights like these where the worry overrode the tiredness were reasonably uncommon. He and Donald had been a couple long enough that Timothy had come to a level of acceptance about the risk inherent in his husband's job. It wasn't that he ignored it or pretended it wasn't there; he just kept it carefully contained in a small, nicely decorated room in the back of his brain. Most of the time they politely ignored each other, but once in a while, especially when there had been a close call, it made itself known keeping Timothy awake with the parties and loud music.

The cold was another trigger especially when the wind howled and the clouds threatened snow before dawn. Timothy knew how much Donald hated it when the temperature dipped below what he considered good snuggling weather. If it were up to Donald he would curl up in his robe like a much older man with a bottomless cup of coffee, refusing to leave the house until spring when he would emerge like a forest creature. Though the Donald that Timothy knew and loved was less like a bear and more like a cranky chipmunk. A rabidly insane chipmunk when someone he loved was in danger, but cuddly and gentle under the right touch.

That thought made Timothy smile though it brought him back to the source of his insomnia. Fighting the urge to squint and turn the blur of light he could see on the other nightstand into numbers on the digital clock he forced himself to close his eyes instead. Timothy Callahan would not sit and watch the clock like some suspicious housewife; the very idea was unacceptable. Donald knew how to take care of himself and Timothy trusted him to do just that. Unfortunately his staunch determination and pride did nothing to help the situation.

Giving up all pretense of sleeping Timothy rolled over onto his back and studied the ceiling as best he could without his glasses. Allison had done a good job with the repairs; there was no sign of the leaks that had plagued them when he and Donald had bought the house. Nor were the numerous patches visible. Timothy ground his teeth and forced himself to think of other things. Dwelling on the time when the house was being reconstructed did nothing to help settle his already jangled nerves.

Maybe it was time for /the talk/ again. It wouldn't make a difference and Donald would refuse to consider a career change, but every so often Timothy felt he needed to throw the idea out there to keep that spark of hope alive. If nothing else, Donald needed a reminder that their time together was being seriously impacted by the current rash of divorce cases that he'd acquired. The selfish and somewhat rigid part of Timothy wondered why these people couldn't cheat on their lunch hours instead of disrupting his plans. It was exceedingly rude when it came right down to it.

At the end of the bed Watson stiffened then sat up, ears perked as he listened. Straining to hear Timothy caught the quiet snick as the door locks were opened and then a minute later, closed again. Watson whined and his tail beat the comforter indicating that this time the person sneaking about below was his other master and not someone in search of files that didn't belong to him. A wave of sleepiness swept over Timothy and he frowned, rebelling at the almost Pavlovian response his body made to the knowledge that Donald was home safe. Still, he couldn't deny the pull of the warm, floating feeling that was beginning to spread through his body.

The bed dipped and Timothy startled, surprised to find that he had drifted off in the few short minutes it had taken Donald to make his way up the stairs to the bedroom. There was the muffled sound as first one boot and then the other hit the carpet. He felt the mattress move which was accompanied by the rustle of fabric that was unmistakably a shirt being removed. The jangle of a belt was followed by the sound of a zipper opening, a sound that Timothy knew well and with great fondness. There was a blast of cold air when the blankets were lifted as Donald crawled in.

Even though he was ready for it Timothy shivered, forcing himself not to pull away, when Donald wrapped his icy frame around his toasty warm husband. With a sleepy snort Watson settled back on the bed his head resting lightly on Timothy's foot. Pulling Donald closer, Timothy began rubbing his hands up and down his partner's back and butt trying to speed up the warming process for both himself and Donald. They really needed to do something about the heater in Donald's old car if he was going to be spending nights out in the cold like this. People had frozen to death in less frigid temperatures. He filed that thought away with a mental note to discuss his concerns with Donald in the morning.

When he felt Donald start to relax, the shivering dissipating with one final shudder, Timothy smiled, easing up the pressure of his touch so it became more of a caress. There was something reassuring about the familiar feel of Donald's skin under his fingertips. It made the coldness leech out of the room and brought with it a sense that things were as they were meant to be. Tilting his head up Timothy kissed Donald's forehead, letting his actions express his concern and relief. He could feel the answering smile against his chest and the soft kiss that accompanied it. Lying there in the dark, Donald safely cradled next to him, Timothy closed his eyes. Let tomorrow bring what it might, for tonight he would sleep wrapped in the arms of the man he loved.


End file.
